


Morning Calls

by hell0lust



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Depression, Drug Abuse, Drugs, Emotional Hurt, Gen, Mental Health Issues, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-04
Updated: 2015-11-04
Packaged: 2018-04-29 21:04:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5142413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hell0lust/pseuds/hell0lust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Morning Calls by Dashboard Confessional. A depiction of Rick using drugs and alcohol to cope with the mistakes of his past and present, as he struggles to maintain the persona he's created for himself out of necessity, as he bears the burden of those dependent on him to be everything that they are not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Morning Calls

**_Morning calls for pain relief,_  
** **_A line above the step beneath  
_** **_The worst that you could do_**  
  
Rick woke with a start, having dozed off at his desk in the garage sometime in the wee hours of the morning. He blinked, the harsh rays of the sun glaring against the various metal objects scattered across his desk, temporarily blinding him. Instinctively, he reached for his flask, lest he waste a moment and let the beginnings of a hangover hit. _A preemptive strike_ , he thought dully, laughing bitterly as he tilted his head back, taking a swig of the bitter alien liquor he kept faithfully at his side. Nostrils flared, he choked back his reflux, barely noticing the pain of the liquor burning his esophagus. _Impressed I haven’t burned a hole through it yet._

**_And the best that you could hope for,  
_** **_Is hardly the best.  
_**   
If he were being honest with himself, he’d admit that he preferred the taste of aged scotch. However, if he were _really_ being honest, he’d admit that earthling booze had lost it’s desired effect on him decades ago. The alien liquor he kept a steady supply of was practically pure ethanol; horrid stuff, really, but it did the job. _Don’t think about it_. Resigned, he reached for his flask, desperate for relief. _Drink up, Ricky._

**_Tepid water, chase the pills_  
** **_With turpentine and chamomile,_  
** **_And don't get cheap with the wine.  
_**   
Lazily, Rick sauntered up the stairs to the second floor of the house, relishing the rare solitude he’d happened upon. Usually, he confined himself to the garage during the day while Morty was at school, so as to avoid Jerry, who spent most of his time moping in the living room. _Must have finally found a firm desperate enough to show interest in him_. Without a second of thought, he entered his daughter’s room, making a beeline for the master suite’s bathroom. _She must have something good, anything..._ Carefully, he scanned the bottles in the medicine cabinet, pausing as he came across something of interest. “Per-eugh-cocet, sweet!” He unscrewed the cap, removing half a dozen pills and lining them up neatly on the counter. He returned to rummaging through the medicine cabinet, selecting two other bottles, labeled _Ativan_ and _Carisoprodol_ , respectively, neatly lining up another eight pills on the counter.  
  
He briefly debated crushing and snorting the pills, but decided against it. Instead, he scooped up the pills, tossing them back carelessly, washing them down with lukewarm tap water. Coughing he reached for his flask from the breast-pocket of his lab coat, taking a heavy pull of the hateful liquor. Satisfied with his raid of Beth’s medicine cabinet, he ambled downstairs, in search of his daughter’s stash of wine. “Oohh, nice vin-eugh-tage, sweetie,” he muttered, retrieving a bottle of Chardonnay from the bottom shelf of the pantry, victorious.

**_You need to be up all of the time._**  
  
“Hey uh, R-rick, don’t you think you should maybe get some sleep?”  
  
Rick looked up from his latest project, aggravated by Morty’s interference. “No, M-eugh-orty. Sleep is for idiots, like you. I’ll sleep when I’m dead.”  
  
“Aw jeeze, Rick. You don’t have to be such an asshole... I’m just... You’ve been up for three days, man. You could at least take a shower,” Morty continued, eyeing the older man warily.  
  
Rick squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to reign in his temper. “I’ll be up in a little bit, Morty. I just need to work out the kinks of this, first. Alright?”  
  
Morty nodded, shooting Rick a disbelieving look. “Alright, Rick. I’ll uh- I’ll be inside, then. Let me know if you need me.”  
  
Rick ignored him, returning to his work. Blearily, he reached for his soldering iron, wincing as he burned himself in the process. “Fuck,” he cursed, applying pressure to his wounded finger.  
  
_You need to finish this. You need to prove to them, show them all what you can do. That you’re not a mad scientist who let the bottle get a hold of them. You have to stay awake, you have important work that needs to be done._

**_Shield your eyes, conceal your lies._**  
  
“Dad?”  
  
Rick glanced up, taking note of his daughter standing before him, her brows furrowed nervously. “Wha-augh-t’s up, sweetie?” he stuttered, instinctively grasping tighter around the bottle in his hand.  
  
“You’ve been staring at the TV for like, twenty minutes and it isn’t even on. Is everything alright, dad?”  
  
Rick nodded, racking his brain for something, anything to say to her. “Just, just thinking about my next project, sweetie. You know, SCIENCE, haha!”  
Beth nodded, offering him a weak smile, though the furrow in her brows remained. “Alright. Is there anything I could get you?”  
  
“N-no, I’m good, thanks s-eugh-weetie.” Rick turned his head, barely able to stomach the guilt of the look on his daughter’s face. _Did I do that? Did I fuck her up so badly that she’s terrified that I’ll leave again? Is she really so willing to do anything, just to keep me here? Jesus Christ, I’m a terrible father._  
  
Burying his face in his hands, he took a deep breath, fighting back tears that threatened to cascade down his worn cheeks. _A drink will help. A drink to forget_.

**_Don't blink._  
** **_Everyone's watching._  
** **_They'll think you're up to something._  
**   
Rick poured over a file at his desk, the papers colored with age, eyes heavy-lidded as he stopped every few minutes to take another pull from his flask. “S-so much promise,” he muttered bitterly, choking on a mouthful of vomit. “Nearly done my dissertation for my doctorate at MIT, beautiful wife, perfect daughter.... snatching defeat from the jaws of victory, like always... good ol’... Rick Sanchezz,” he slurred, tilting his head back as he swallowed the remains of the flask.  
  
Carelessly, he tossed it behind him, letting the metal fall with a dull thud against the concrete floor. He reached for a bottle of cheap whiskey, cracking open the bottle and taking a pull. He had another couple of bottles of the alien ethanol in his bedroom, but whiskey felt like the right choice for an evening of _reminiscing._  
  
“R-rick, what’re you doing?”  
  
Rick tensed up, hastily shoving the papers into a drawer of his desk. “N-nothing that you’re tiny brain could comp-eugh-rehend, M-morty,” Rick sneered, shooting his grandson a menacing glare.  
  
“You’ve just seemed a little I don’t know, _off_ lately. You know?”  
  
“No I _don’t_ know, M-eugh-orty. Maybe you just think that because you’ve been spending all your time mooning over that girl Jessica instead of helping me with my work. You’re a real piece of work, you know that Morty? If you aren’t here to help me with my science, do you think time freezes? No. I have to do it all myself, MORTY. So I’m sorry if I’ve been a little too preoccupied to notice whatever has been going on in your life, you little piece of shit.”  
  
“Jeeze Rick. You’re not a robot. You must have feelings.”  
  
“Stop projecting all your needy bullshit onto me, Morty. Just because _you’re_ a whiny little _human_ with _emotional needs_ , doesn’t mean you need to drag me into it.”  
  
“You don’t really mean that, do you, Rick?” Morty asked, taken aback by Rick’s snarky response.  
  
“Yeah. I do, Morty,” Rick lied, forcing the nagging thoughts in the back of his head away with another pull from the bottle of whiskey.  
  
“Whatever, Rick. I was gonna say we should watch Ball Fondlers or something but forget it... have a nice night or whatever,” Morty retorted, hastily retreating from the garage.

**_They need for you to be everything  
_** **_That they cannot be themselves.  
_**   
Rick collapsed back at his desk, resting his head against the cool metal surface. _Pull yourself together, Sanchez. Do it for them. Your family. Be better. For them. Someone has to be strong_. Sniffling back a wave of tears, Rick took a pull from the bottle, relishing the sting as the liquid trickled down his throat. “They need you to be everything that they’re not... Smart, strong, whatever...” he slurred, taking another swig. _As if I could ever live up to the pedestal they’ve put me on._

**Author's Note:**

> My first attempt at writing a Rick & Morty fanfic. I've been listening to a lot of Dashboard Confessional lately, and the song Morning Calls struck me as such a "Rick" song. Any feedback would be greatly appreciated... I spent a decade writing bandfic and only in the past year or so started writing Wolfstar fanfic so this foray into a different fandom is exhilarating and nerve-wracking. Please be kind. My tumblr is hell0lust. Let's be friends!


End file.
